


Loving Mitchell

by Cali_se



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cali_se/pseuds/Cali_se
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a first time for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving Mitchell

**Author's Note:**

> Set early on in Series One. George's POV. This was written in May 2011.

Looking back, it had been more than a friendship from the start. There had been what you could call a frisson between them, and a certain sense of shared destiny which, at first, George had put down to immense relief, and his gratitude to Mitchell for saving him from a beating (or worse) at the hands of errant vampires. But from there it had blossomed; as George had grown closer to Mitchell, as they’d made a home together with Annie, he’d begun to feel more connected to him than he’d ever felt to anyone in his whole life, from the years before the invisible line had been drawn in Scotland, and at any time since. He’d become very fond of Annie too, in the time he’d known her, but with Mitchell it was something else. It was in his bones, and in his blood. And George could sense it was mutual; he certainly found himself hoping it was. Each time he and Mitchell shared a couple of pints at the pub after work, sitting close together, sharing their sorrows and their laughter, thick as thieves in a dark, quiet corner, it felt to George as if he were falling deeper and deeper into his friend with every smile, every glance, every shared story, as though being pulled closer and closer to him by some invisible thread. And they had begun to divulge secrets to one another too: ordinary, human secrets that ordinary human men share with trusted friends and confidants, quite apart from those which had bound them one to the other since the first night they met, when Mitchell had wiped the blood from George’s face and the tears from his eyes. 

So, one clear and starry spring night, as they settled down on the sofa to watch TV, it shouldn’t have surprised George when, instead of propping his feet up on the coffee table and rolling a cigarette as he often did, Mitchell opted to use him as a sort of pillow, lounging against him, with his legs up on the sofa arm. And it didn’t surprise George. Not really. It just made his stomach go soft, and a tiny erotic spark ignite in his veins. And when, gradually, a movement occurred between them, and then another, and another, until Mitchell was sitting beside George, and their legs were touching, and George felt Mitchell’s hand wrap itself around his hand, it still wasn’t exactly surprising. It just caused George’s heart to beat much faster inside his chest, and a rush of expectancy creep up to flood his cheeks. _Oh my god. Are we holding hands…?_

He was granted a little time to let this new development sink in, because they sat there, in a kind of mutually expectant silence, long after the credits had rolled, and as the next show started and ended, and through ad breaks that usually drove George to distraction (but somehow didn’t this time), each of them seemingly waiting for the other to decide what to do, and to make the next move. 

As it happened, they both made the next move, and at exactly the same moment…

It was just a tender, inquisitive meeting of mouths at first, but still such an exquisite moment of sensual intimacy that it caused that tiny spark in George's veins to catch alight. And then, very slowly, so slowly it felt to George that it was happening in slow motion, they pulled apart, and Mitchell looked deep into his eyes for one brief, highly charged moment before kissing him again, with another soft press of lips against lips that set George trembling.

“Should we be--er--” George began, and then it happened again: a kiss, sudden and delightful, silencing George into submission. This time it was more than a soft brushing of skin against skin; it was confident, instantly open mouthed, with Mitchell’s hands moving up to cup George's neck as it deepened and their tongues lent it a slick fluidity, pouring pleasure over George’s limbs like treacle.

“Where’s Annie?” George asked as they pulled apart, surprised that he could find his voice at all.

“Not sure," Mitchell replied, his voice low, his fingertips caressing George’s skin in tiny circles, feather light, tantalizing, driving George crazy. “She said she had things to do.”

“What things?”

"I don't know."

“Did you ask her?”

“Yeah. 'Course I did. She was being all _Annie_ about it. I didn’t pursue it.”

“Was she okay?”

“She was fine... George?"

“Mm?”

“Shall we go upstairs?“

George didn’t answer Mitchell straightaway; instead he tried to swallow in a dry throat, and looked down at their fingers, entangled on Mitchell's denim-clad lap; watched them furling and unfurling, as a strong desire to hold Mitchell, to _love_ Mitchell, battled fiercely with a fear of the unknown.

“George? Shall we?”

“What?”

“I think you heard me the first time,” Mitchell said, seeking and then capturing George’s gaze, his dark eyes holding George‘s heart in their depths. “D’you not want to?” he asked. 

“It’s not a case of not wanting to, or wanting to-- it’s more a… a… case of-- of--”

“George.”

“Yes?”

“I’m asking if I can take you to bed. A simple yes or a no will do. If you don’t want to, just say--”

”I do! I do. Mitchell... Bloody hell--” George sighed. “You’ve no idea how much I want to.” 

“So?” Mitchell said. “Shall we?”

George looked at Mitchell; at his expectant face, so intense, so utterly captivating, and decided -- _sod it!_ \-- to throw all caution to the wind. “Your bed or mine?” 

Mitchell smiled, and stroked George’s cheek. “Oh, you know me, George," he replied. "I'm easy." 

~*~

The instant the bedroom door was closed behind them, their mouths met, each new kiss making them desperate for more; it seemed to George that he could feel every inch of Mitchell’s body as he pressed it against his own, every muscle, every sinew, and he felt a sudden powerful surge of lust rise up, making him dizzy. He murmured into Mitchell’s mouth, gestured to the bed, suddenly needing to lie down. They moved together, still kissing as they went, and slowly eased themselves down onto tousled bedclothes. George momentarily regretted not tidying up as he tossed a newspaper and magazine to the floor, but the thought was banished by strong arms wrapping themselves round him, and a smooth Irish lilt uttering endearments so tender they made him want to cry. He wrapped his own arms around Mitchell and relished the feeling of their bodies touching. It had been so long since he’d held someone like this, so long since he’d _been_ held, and the need to be touched, to be _really_ touched, threatened to overwhelm him with each new sharp spike of arousal. 

As though reading his mind, Mitchell began to tug at the buttons on George‘s shirt. George watched as he unhooked each one, slowly and sensually, now and then glancing at George and winking or smiling, leaving him unsure if he should laugh or swoon. When Mitchell started to kiss his chest, lingering over each nipple, licking at them over and -- _oh!_ \-- over again with a quick and eager tongue, there was no contest: George plumped for a swoon. Lying beneath Mitchell‘s tender machinations, a relentless rush of arousal flooding his body with each flick of his lover’s tongue, he lost all thought and sense of time; all that existed was the moment. Now. With Mitchell. And his own amazing, ever tightening jeans…

Again, as though he could read his mind, Mitchell paused to undo the belt from George’s jeans with one hand as he kissed a downwards trail to his belly. He made quick work of removing them, before George in turn helped him out of his clothes, everything except for his underwear, pulling his jeans undone and taking them off in one fell swoop, despite their snug fit. The two of them hugged close again, moving with and against each other, now both naked except for two thin layers of cotton. George smoothed his hands over Mitchell’s back, relishing the sensations beneath his fingers: of soft male skin, hard muscle; of silk and steel. He kissed wherever he could reach, clutching handfuls of dark hair in his fists, while the sound of Mitchell’s voice: urgent, sexy, _beloved_ , said his name over and over again, taking him ever deeper into the moment. 

Feeling bolder now, George positioned himself on top of Mitchell and captured his lips briefly before moving on to his neck and his chest, lingering there, as Mitchell had done, to lick and suck each nipple in turn. As Mitchell moaned his obvious pleasure, George continued on, kissing and caressing a line down Mitchell’s stomach, then a little further down to the waistband of his underwear. He pressed his lips against the dark material, nuzzling and kissing the swell of Mitchell's cock, before removing the underwear altogether. He looked up to watch his lover then, and the sight hit him full in the chest: Mitchell’s dark eyes were closed, his lips open on a wordless sigh, as he lay naked on the bed, bunching up the duvet in his fists. His beauty was so astonishing, there in such close proximity, and his desire so open, so real, that at that moment George felt he could come just from looking at him. 

But arms reached for him then, and pulled him back into an embrace, and he found himself lying briefly face to face with Mitchell once more, trading hungry looks and even hungrier kisses, before Mitchell in his turn kissed his way slowly down George’s body to take him into his mouth. It was divine; Mitchell’s mouth and tongue relentlessly urging him on to bliss, while firm but gentle hands steadied his hips, keeping him still. 

When they kissed again, George tasted the faint musk of his own sex on Mitchell‘s lips, and his need for release became a desperate plea.

“Mitchell…” he breathed. “John… _Please…_ ”

Mitchell settled atop George, their bodies fitting perfectly together. “We’ll try it this way,” he said. “Move with me, George.”

George followed Mitchell’s lead, felt his arousal building and building to the point of no return, as Mitchell used his hands, and his hips, and his whole body to create a delicious friction.

" _That’s it_ ,” Mitchell murmured as he moved against George. " _That’s it..._ Oh... _fuck..._ George.”

It didn’t take long for George to climax once they’d gained momentum, pre-cum a natural lubricant, slippery against sensitised flesh. He cried out as he came, his eyes tightly shut despite a strong desire to keep them open. Mitchell followed soon after, claiming his own kind of ecstasy, and this time George had his wish granted: to see those dark eyes, hazy with lust, gazing back at him. 

They lay in silence for a long while afterwards, finding a mutual, long-sought peace within the pleasure. George trembled slightly in Mitchell’s arms, his heart beating steadily in his chest. Finally, he broke their reverie.

“I forgot all about Annie. Mitchell, what if she’d come in?”

“Oh… I think she’d sense not to.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I do. Just relax, George. Who knows? _Maybe…_ ”

“What?”

“Ah, nothing; doesn’t matter.”

“No, tell me. What, Mitchell? Maybe what?”

“ _Maybe_ she left us alone on purpose tonight."

George paused for a moment in thought before replying. “Do you think so? But how could she know we were going to--?”

“Womanly intuition? _Ghostly_ intuition? She felt the spark? Maybe we’ve been making it totally obvious, that we felt this way about each other. I don’t know, George. I just get the feeling that she had a feeling. If you see what I mean.”

“Mm, well yes, now I think about it, she has been leaving little hints around the place. I didn’t realise what they meant till now. Oh god, Mitchell, she’s a matchmaker now on top of everything else. What is that girl going to get up to next?”

“It’s anyone’s guess.”

They gradually fell into sleep soon after that, tiny snippets of conversation giving way to silence as they both drifted off, naked beneath the duvet and enveloped in each other's arms. 

Neither of them awoke until the timid morning light peeped in through the window.

~*~

George opened his eyes first. For a tiny wandering moment he couldn’t recall why he was happy, and then a movement in the bed beside him reminded him. Glancing at the clock he saw it was still early; early enough to stay in bed for a while longer anyway. He turned to find his companion still sleeping, and he propped himself up on his elbow to look at him. Mitchell’s face seemed younger than ever in repose, with not one sign of the many long years he’d lived apparent on his complexion. The curve of his mouth was too inviting to resist, so George leaned down and kissed him, softly and gently. As he did so, Mitchell’s arms came round him, and pulled him close, and he found himself being kissed back, just as softly, just as gently. As he lay his head against Mitchell’s chest, George felt sleepy fingers caressing the lines of his scars and, for the first time since he was scratched, they felt a part of him; he didn’t feel ashamed. 

Snuggling was something George had missed. He hadn’t realised quite how desperately he’d missed it until now. Strange to think that the first proper snuggle he’d been destined to enjoy was with a vampire; or, rather it would have been a strange concept to him before his life changed forever, before he knew that such things as vampires existed, and that they didn’t _actually_ have to sleep in coffins or avoid the daylight altogether, that they could be like _Mitchell._ Now that it was happening, it felt kind of… _right._

It occurred to George, not for the first time, that life is sometimes a funny old thing.

Then another thought occurred to him. 

“Mitchell.”

“Mmm?”

“I wonder why neither of us were worried last night?”

“What about?” Mitchell asked. 

Even though, from the tone of Mitchell's voice, George suspected that he knew all too well already, he continued on. “About what might possibly happen... to you... once we were having sex. Because I wasn’t. Not at all. Not for a second.”

“Maybe it's because of your own... situation. Maybe because you trust me. And because I trust myself _with_ you. I’ve had relationships before this, George. My condition doesn’t always have to define things.”

“But you’ve never been with someone like me before?“

“George, I’ve never _met_ anyone like you before.”

“I meant with a werewolf.”

“I know what you meant. And no. I haven't. But there’s a first time for everything. I mean, you've not been to bed with a vampire before, have you? Unless you've been keeping it under your hat."

“No, I haven't. But maybe that’s because most of the time they'd rather beat the shit out of me.”

“Not all of them, George.”

“No," George replied, his voice now a muffled murmur against Mitchell's chest. “Not all of them.”

Mitchell took a deep breath before he spoke again.

“I had someone,” he said. “It was a long time ago -- or seems like it anyway. We were together, properly together, I mean. A couple. And I was... It _felt_ very much like love. That probably has a lot to do with it, y'know? What I mean is… something stopped the bloodlust from getting in the way all those times when it was... I don’t know. _Different._ "

“Different how?”

“Different, that’s all.”

“And now? This? Is this different, Mitchell?"

“You and I… we have a bond. A really _strong_ bond, and…”

"And you want to be with me."

“Yeah... Yeah. I do. But it’s not _just_ about what I want, now, is it? Not any more. That’s the whole point of what I’m trying to do, trying to live a _new_ , better life. Do _you_ want to be with _me_ , George? Because if it’s not what you want, it’s okay. I’ll understand. I know it might seem like I’m an awful lot to take on. I wouldn’t want you to feel--”

Now it was George’s turn to silence Mitchell with a kiss. 

“This is what I want," he said. "I want _you._ ” 

“Really?”

“Yes. Really."

“That’s good to hear. Because I _think_ I might be falling in love with you.”

“I think I’m already there," George said, only just managing to keep his emotions in check. Then he laid a light, playful punch against Mitchell’s bare arm. “What’s all this about _you_ being a lot to take on? I’ll have you know I’m very high maintenance.”

Mitchell laughed, and was just about to retort when they heard noises downstairs. 

“Annie,” George said.

“Sure to be,” Mitchell replied, sitting up and reaching for his jeans. 

"You know, I have a strong suspicion she's been here all along. Hiding away somewhere in the house."

"Maybe. C’mon. Let’s go to her. See what she's up to."

“Mitchell--”

“Where did my tee shirt end up last night?”

“There… On the floor. Mitchell, listen, I think we should still exercise a little bit of discretion, even if Annie _does_ know about us already. I just don’t want her to feel alone here in the house, or feel she has to keep doing a disappearing act every time we sit next to each other on the sofa.”

Mitchell nodded. “I know. I was thinking the exact same thing.” 

George stretched out and yawned, watching Mitchell in profile as he pulled on his reclaimed tee shirt, and then got up himself to find some fresh underwear to put on. He grabbed the pair he’d worn the previous night from the floor and put them in the laundry, together with the towel that Mitchell had used to clean them both up with. The towel smelled faintly of his own sweat, and of sex; George’s head swam with memories of the night before, and he smiled to himself. As he turned round, he found Mitchell watching him.

“Last night was wonderful," Mitchell said, and patted the space on the bed beside him. “Come back here for a minute.”

“What for?” George said, in mock suspicion.

“Just c’mere, would you, George?”

George smiled, and shrugged on his shirt before sitting next to Mitchell. “Are you okay?” he asked, serious once more, slightly apprehensive.

“I’m fine. I just want you to know something,” Mitchell said, taking George’s hand. “You think that I saved you the night we met, but this-- this is a two way thing. You saved me too, George. I want you to know that, and remember it always -- you saved me. You really did. You, and Annie. All _this_. I feel like I have a chance now; maybe my last chance, but a _chance_. Believe me, I’m going to do my best to make it work, to put the things of past truly behind me and move on. Live a _good_ life. And Annie will be okay, y‘know? She’ll always know that we love her. We’ll make sure that she knows. Whatever happens now, we know what we have, and that’s all that matters.“

George began to reply, but was distracted by yet more clattering from downstairs, now mixed with the muffled sound of a deejay chatting with a caller on a local talk radio station. The click of the kettle switch came next, and soon after that the smell of a cooked breakfast wafted upstairs. 

“I think that's probably for us,” he said. 

“Domestic bliss,” Mitchell said, kissing George's hand. “I think I could get used to it.” 

“Me too.”

“George."

“Yes?"

“I’m so thankful we met.”

George nodded, and the tear that had been threatening to fall for so long spilled onto his cheek. 

“Me too," he said.


End file.
